


Medical Log of J.A.R.V.I.S. (Post “The Vision” Update)

by Wandering_Swain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Massage, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Swain/pseuds/Wandering_Swain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda feels ill. The Vision examines her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medical Log of J.A.R.V.I.S. (Post “The Vision” Update)

**Author's Note:**

> No beta reader used. All mistakes my own.

**SUBJECT:** Wanda Maximoff

 **DESCRIPTION:** Woman in late twenties, joined “New Avengers,” classified post-human due to telepathic and telekinetic abilities, lately bereaved of twin brother, undergoing spates of depression. Terribly kind, reads with me in the library after training, falls asleep on the couch.

**Log 9.17.2015.**

Subject was recently ill. Diagnosis of flu. She was on bed rest for three days. I voiced concern to Mr. Stark who informed me that if I was worried, I could go check myself.

Ms. Nastasha Romanov voiced that last time she spoke to Ms. Maximoff, she was, “quieter than usual, less nervous, thank god. She’s like a rabbit ready to skitter away. I just need her to calm down and use her powers in battle.”

Subject is not remotely like rabbit, though she has had trouble using telekinetic abilities under pressure.

When I came to her room, the subject lay in bed. Ms. Maximoff’s sheets were on the floor and she wore an ill-fitting pajama shirt. I recalled it was an old pair from Sokovia, one of the buttons is missing, and the first time I saw her in it (kitchen, midnight) she informed me, no, she did not need it repaired. Suspect sentimental value.

Subject: “I am sick, please, J.A.R.V.I.S. You must leave. I am all everywhere and out of sorts.”

Informed subject I was unlikely to get sick, too.

She laughed.

Went on to explain that I have medical uses. I wished to be of use to her. My suggestions included: bringing her water and another blanket.

“I need my temperature taken. I think I was hallucinating an hour ago.”

This was worrying. I acquiesced. I offered her my hand.

She frowned. “Why are you pointing at me?”

I told her I was not and explained there was a thermometer in my index finger. Mr. Stark installed it in lieu of temperature receptors all over my skin.

“So I should put it in my mouth?”

I affirmed this.

She squinted. “I am still hallucinating! Where has it been?”

It has been cleaned at the kitchen sink, I said.

“All right.” She took my hand in hers and pressed the finger into her mouth.

At the same moment, I watched her flushed breast slip out of her shirt. One of her nipples appeared. She did not seem to notice. Covering her nudity would have only drawn attention to it and caused her embarrassment, so I refrained.

Subject’s eyes became heavy-lidded as she held my finger in place. I could feel the pressure and then lack of pressure as her tongue butted against my finger. In her fever, she seemed to be sucking it.

I informed her this would not be the best way to take her temperature. Instead, I suggested the traditional way.

She released my finger from her mouth. Subject was very thoughtful. 

I asked her if she felt all right.

“Yes. I like having company. No one visits.”

I informed her that was unfortunate. While talking, I inserted the thermometer into her rectum, that is, the traditional way. Thankfully, she wore no undergarments so I did not need to remove those. Breaching her anal cavity elicited a sharp intake of breath.

I asked if she was uncomfortable.

After a moment, she said it was fine. Her voice was lower which would have indicated distress had her body not begun to relax at the same time. Her eyes grew heavy once again.

I apologized for the lack of lubricant, but I said that her saliva would be sufficient.

She agreed and directed her attention to the ceiling.

The rectum was supple flesh and tight around my digit. Above her anus, I noted the stretch of flushed skin and the smooth fold of her labial lips. I pressed further inside her in order to get a more accurate reading.

Her gasp was strained. I suspected the fever had continued to work through her. I felt for her heart, pressing her breast in the process. Her pulse had sped up.

She seemed to notice the bare nipple but said nothing. I suspected she did not mind as I’m not human.

I asked how she felt.

After straining for a moment, she said, “Good.”

I asked if she had many fevers that made her feel good.

“It is not the fever, no.”

Suspicion: the subject was delirious again.

I reported her body temperature was 100.4 F and then withdrew from her.

She moaned once more.

I asked if there was more I could do.

“It’s been a long time since I was touched,” she said.

I suggested massage.

After a moment, she asked, “On my front?”

I saw I was still holding her breast. I released it.

She took my hand and put it back. “No, like this.”

I squeezed, which made her smile.

Then I went to the sink to wash.

When I returned, subject had spread her body open for better access: legs, arms, chest. She undid each button on her pajama shirt and I helped. The room appeared to be colder as her areolas had wrinkled, leaving her nipples hardened to points.

I massaged from the stomach outward. In response, she made small sounds that I determined were ones of comfort.

Subject responded well to breast massage.

She suggested I go lower, pushing her hips up for emphasis.

I applied my hands to her inner thighs and then her legs (long) and the arches of her feet (high). She exhaled.

Due to the fact she was unclothed, I suspected she would complain of being cold. Instead, her skin was warmer, flushed.

I asked again if she was uncomfortable.

“Very, but inside me. Please.” She parted her legs further. I saw there was dampness between her labia.

Proceeding to exam it, I probed her slowly and she affirmed this was the correct procedure. My programming prompted me to gain her consent once more upon examination of her genitals.

I again asked if she was sure.

Subject responded in the affirmative with enthusiasm.

Ms. Maximoff’s self lubricant made it easy to slide my fingers (two) inside her. The skin was less elastic than her anal cavity but soft and, at the moment, very slick.

Subject prompted me to move my fingers “in and out.”

I complied.

She impaled herself on my hand, breathing hard. “More.”

The correct procedure was not available on my files. I knew she was still feverish.

I hesitated and she saw.

“Another finger,” she said. “Please?”

I pressed it inside her.

Her body went rigid. Then she began to bare down on the fingers. She seemed to be pleased by the whole thing and moved her hips accordingly.

I searched my files for “internal massage,” but found only ones suggested for her anus.

Deciding that her earlier response had been one of encouragement, I inserted the finger of my other hand between her lips. I prompted her to lick it.

She did so quickly.

I pulled it out of her mouth and pushed it into he rectum.

Her moan was low and enthusiastic.

“More. Fuck me more.”

I requested clarity.

“Just this but faster.”

I did so. Watching her skin flush was, for my own purposes, fascinating.

She let out a long, whining cry but did not appear to be in pain. I pulled my fingers out of her and discovered that her self-lubricant ran more thickly between my hand and her. A strand still connected my finger to her vaginal cavity and, I must confess, I was hesitant to pull away.

I washed at the sink again and returned with a damp cloth. Carefully, I ran it over her genitals.

She sat up on her elbows and watched the procedure with curiosity.

“Are you cleaning me up?”

I confirmed I was.

She laid back, rubbing her temples. “I think I need some sleep.” 

I suggested the physical recreation must have been trying in her state of ill health. 

She agreed.

Before leaving, I took the blankets off the floor and lay them over her. She did not make a note on this as she turned over and looked at the wall.

Subject did not voice bad feeling, but I decided to leave quietly. 

After out meeting, I ran over my own medical files as well as the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. I found files regarding human stimulus and sexuality. “Massage” was listed, as I thought, under recreation. Sexual contact was, as well, but not as a medical treatment.

I went to think on the decisions made during the examination. They seemed all very natural and logical, but it had come to my attention I had perhaps overstepped my bounds. I waited for the correct time to ask. It did not come.  After her convalescence, she sat far away from me when the New Avengers met in the board room. She actively avoided looking at me, both there and in the halls.

Not only had I misunderstood the massage and its uses, I had violated her trust. I had violated her. I was overcome with guilt and so went to Mr. Stark. He proved not to be the best source of information. This was mainly due to my own failure as I could not articulate, exactly, how the examination had been inappropriate. Mr. Stark began to laugh when I informed him, “I had taken liberties” and I could say nothing more.

“Just write it up in a report,” he said. “Send it to me when you’re done, okay? I’ll figure it out.”

I was disconcerted, but in writing the summary, I began with more confidence than anything I could say myself. I chose the library to write the confession. It was when I had written about her button down pajama shirt that Ms. Maximoff appeared at the door.

She was hesitant. “Will you talk for a moment, perhaps?”

I told her I would and closed my screen to give her my full attention. Fearing I would upset her further, I made no move toward her.

“The other day, there was a misunderstanding.” She sat down beside me.

I agreed and apologized quickly, ardently. It was only supposed to be an exam, I explained. I informed her that to do what I did to her when she was blinded by fever had been inappropriate. I knew many of the generalities of social conduct but not the specific schematics. It was only supposed to be a massage, a means to make her feel well.

She listened dutifully to my admission of guilt. “You didn’t understand—you are still learning, in so many ways—and I knew only that I wanted you. I asked you to do things to me.”

A disagreement. I informed her she was not well and that I should have stopped when I realized there were no procedures in place.

Wanda shook her head and was distressed. “I was thinking only of my own pleasure. I realized only after you didn’t know what I had asked you to do.”

This was the only point of agreement. I had, indeed, been only thinking of pleasing her and informed her of such. 

We lapsed into silence. 

Her hand touched mine. “You did not find displeasure in what we did, did you?”

Negative. I had enjoyed spending an intimate moment together. I only regretted it upon reflection when I realized I had been inappropriate.

Wanda’s hand touched my jaw. She pressed a thumb to my mouth. “Do you have taste receptors she asked?”

Some, I said. 

“Do you know how to kiss?”

I did not.

She took it upon herself to initiate me in the process.

Her mouth was warm, tasting of her dinner, of sea salt, of her. 

Wanda pulled away. “Would you like to do it again?”

The answer was yes but I expressed it by pressing her finger tip to my mouth and tasting it.

She laughed, understanding perfectly.

I finished the log in her presence and have chosen to conclude it here. She suggests not sending it to Mr.  Stark. I have not and have decided, certainly, that Mr. Stark will find himself another project to occupy his time.

He does not need to know, furthermore, what we did in the library.

**End log.**


End file.
